


Killing Sam Winchester

by GhostGarrison



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Immortal Castiel, M/M, No Character Death, Reapers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2015-03-04
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3477569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhostGarrison/pseuds/GhostGarrison
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel spends his immortal days as a Reaper, taking lives from those who abuse it, from those who taunt or seek death, or simply from those whose time is up—be it naturally or unnaturally. But there's this one man he just can't bring himself to reap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Killing Sam Winchester

Castiel spends his immortal days as a Reaper, taking lives from those who abuse it, from those who taunt or seek death, or simply from those whose time is up—be it naturally or unnaturally. His clients—he refused to call them his ‘victims’ like other Reapers, his brothers, may—are only able to see him in their final minute, when Castiel comes to them, staunchly dressed in his crisp black suit, blue tie, and tan trenchcoat and approaching them carefully but confidently, seemingly out of thin air.  


They usually put up a fight, with weakly made arguments such as _“I’ll do better next time!”_ and something along the lines of _“but I don’t deserve to die!”_ But that’s just it, Castiel thinks, _no one_ deserves death, even if they are asking for it, teasing it, pushing its limits. Death isn’t something achieved or deserved, it’s just another step of existence. Some of the souls he releases from their mortal confines go to Heaven, to live happily and peacefully until the end of time itself. Other souls, much to his own dismay, might go to Hell, if unspeakable crimes have been committed or a deal been dealt.  


No, he does not control where these souls go, but he does control _when_ they go. And he does it right on time, like he’s meant to do.  


He has his orders given from above, every earth morning he receives them and he works through the night. Death never takes a break from severing the ties between souls and their bodies, and neither do those who reap the souls themselves. His list is long with names, a few he remembers from the human news network that he’s taken to watching in his rare free time—a politician who molested children two weeks ago, a celebrity who has overdosed many times recently—but most of them are just names he won’t remember.  


Or at least he tries to keep them as just names. He can’t get to attached to these humans, he can’t put names to faces to bodies to lives, because it makes his job that much more difficult. It makes reaping seem like _murder._  


But there he stands, on a street corner of his appointed city named San Francisco, humans passing by without knowing that they are brushing past death itself. His eyes skim the list once and he sighs. At the very bottom is a familiar name, a name he’s seen over and over and over again. A name that appears on his list every day. A name that has a face, a body, a life.  


_’Samuel Henry Winchester’_  


Frowning, he stares down at the letters written in red ink, sprawled across the piece of paper in his hand. Sam’s name has been on his list for more than three years now, and Castiel has yet to be able to finish the deed.  


He can remember the first time Sam’s name came up, like it was just yesterday. Sam was working at a restaurant then, working hard to put himself through his final year of college at Stanford. Castiel was supposed to take his life when he was hit by a speeding car on the way home from visiting a friend in the city. He was so close to taking Sam’s soul from his body, extracting it from the mass of bloodied skin and broken bones.  


But there was something—some unspeakable, unknowable, unexplainable force that kept him from doing so.  


And that very same force has kept him from finishing his list every single day since. Sam has been through Hell since then, the three Fate sisters have constantly put him in fatal situations so that Castiel can reap his soul and send it on its way to Heaven. But every time, Castiel cannot bring himself to lay a hand on Sam to pull his soul from him, but instead stray far from the rules of the Reapers.  


Invisible to all others who are not inches from death, he follows Sam to all the hospitals, he makes sure that Sam is properly found by someone who is able to help. Castiel keeps the man company as he recovers from each and every thing that should have killed him. What’s worse is he made _friends_ with the man, woefully connecting the name to the face to the life he’s _saved,_ not taken.  


Sam stays faithful and optimistic through it all, and it’s the most incredible sight. Castiel admires him for his attitude and perseverance, his inhumanly perfect soul. Castiel has long since decided that there is no other human on this good earth that deserves to live more than Sam Winchester.  


Castiel finishes the day’s list without much emotion, staying as apathetic as he can when he takes the souls of many and sets them free to follow the path to either Heaven or Hell. Sam’s name is the only one uncrossed, the only one left alive. He calls it a day, shoving the list into his pocket to hide in his safe place later—unfinished lists do not disappear, they do not return to the Reaper Realm to be catalogued. They’re piling up on his unused bed.  


He crosses the city completely unnoticed, invisible to the living. It’s times like these that he’s thankful for being a Reaper, being able to go anywhere without being seen, without being bothered at all. Sometimes he meets ghosts on his journey, souls that are trapped between realms, but they aren’t his responsibility. There are other people for that job.  


The lights are already on in the apartment when he returns, shutting the door solidly behind him and toeing off his shiny black loafers on the mat. He moves quietly down the hall on socked feet, relieved that the day is over.  


"Cas?" a voice calls out right before Sam’s head pops out from around the corner, from the kitchen. "Great! You’re home."  


"Yes," Castiel returns stiffly, mind immediately going towards the Reaper’s list still shoved in his coat pocket. The one with Sam’s name on it, the one he’ll try his best to hide.  


Sam gives him a warm smile, cheeks dimpling in the way that Castiel adores, coming out from the kitchen to place a soft and gentle kiss on his lips. His arm is still in a white cast from the last time he was supposed to die horrifically—being pushed from a library window, and _oh_ how the Fate sisters are cruel—but he still hums a happy little tune as he moves about the kitchen, fixing dinner for the both of them.  


Over the past three years of knowing the man, Castiel has never been able to take Sam Winchester’s soul despite how many times he was supposed to.  


Castiel can’t _kill_ Sam Winchester because he _loves_ him.

**Author's Note:**

> written for Tumblr, find me there @ GhostGarrison


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